Ama no Zako
by Tollpatsch
Summary: "Fate is but a dying wish... Of a world that is beyond control. Like a single lotus flower, the future blossoms; Upon its petals, two people shall be free." ― Youka Nitta. OC. Uchiha Azami tempts fate. Displeased, Fate forces her to make a choice. The good or the greater good? Your future, or the future of the world? An exploration of the era of the Warring States. Pre-canon.
1. Acceptance

**.**

**天逆毎**

**Ama no Zako**

**.**

**Learning Phase: Realm of Hell**

**地獄道 **

**Jigokudou**

* * *

><p>"An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind."<p>

― Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

><p>"It was the Senju!"<p>

"A surprise attack? Who leaked the location?"

"It must have been the spies."

"…This place isn't important anyway. The exiles lived here, you know?"

"Lucky for us. We'll avenge our dead anyway."

She feels nothing as they speak.

_It could have been me_, Azami thinks.

The smell of burning corpses fills the air, and the girl can do nothing but stand there. Shaking, she covers her nose with a sooty kimono sleeve. It doesn't work. Too many things run through her mind, too many images, and too many smells.

A treacherous whisper in her head: _If I stayed back, I would have died too._

For a moment, she is disgusted with herself. What kind of person is relieved when the corpses of their mother and sister burn in front of them? What should one feel?

"Girl!" a shinobi, about double her age of ten summers appears next to her. "What are you standing there for? Make sure scavengers don't get to the bodies."

Bodies. _Bodies_. He calls them bodies?

She clenches her jaw before nodding.

Disgusting.

They were people. They lived and loved. They trusted the clan. The clan betrayed them. The weak, the outcasts, the unimportant members were abandoned.

There was the old woman who sneaked her sweets. The farmers who gave her extra vegetables even though their crops were failing. There was the blind man who played the flute on clear nights, lulling her to sleep. There was her sister, so young and so frail—born sickly and unable to walk. The illness had stolen her sight also, as if the world hadn't robbed her enough.

She remembers her beloved mother, who convinced her to go to the main compound for clan training. _You said you wanted to protect us? Well, my cute Azami._

_Go and learn how to fly._

Azami loved these people. They were important to her.

Once, they were alive like her.

Of course, she cannot say anything. She is alone and at the mercy of the clan. For the clan, everything is for the greater good of the clan. Fighting the Senju and killing and killing and killing…

They could send her to her death at any moment.

"Girl? Are you deaf?"

Azami looks up at the ninja standing in front of her, his back proudly bearing that stupid fan insignia.

"No," she rasps from the smoke. "But don't you think they should get a proper funeral?"

He turns, frowning at her. "We don't have the time for that. Now get ready to leave on the signal."

Azami remains silent when he finally goes to hassle others. And just as the flames die, the last of her belief in the clan disappears.

And it is her fault. She is too weak to even protect her home.

It's all in the past now. The only way is forward, into the bleak future.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ne…'zami?"<em>

_Azami carries her younger sister on her back, tired from walking forest trails for the whole day. Although her arms feel like they're about to fall off, they never falter in its grip of her younger sister's lame legs. _

"_Hm?" she grunts, sweat-beads forming on her temple. _

_A small, soft hand wipes the sweat away. "Are you tired?"_

_She smiles, even though the younger girl couldn't see. "No."_

"_Really?" _

"_Yes." _

_The older girl re-adjusts her grip so her sister is more comfortable. _

"_Thanks, 'zami." –thin arms wrap around her neck in a hug–"I've always wondered…do…do you ever hate me because…because I'm useless?" she murmurs, her voice barely audible. "I can't see, I can't walk…All I do is cause trouble for you and mummy and the clan."_

_Azami stops in her tracks. "I…you're not useless!"_

_The girl trembles. "D-don't lie to me. I don't like liars. Please, tell me the truth." _

_Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, she lowers the crippled girl to the forest floor. She embraces her sister, her precious, _precious _sister…the light of her world. _

"_Listen. Listen to me, and never forget my words," –the girl in her arms nods—"I could never hate you. If I hated anything, it'd be this shitty world and your shitty illness." _

_She giggles. "Y-you swore, 'zami!"_

_Azami gasps playfully. "Don't tell mum. She'll blow the roof off when we get back this late."_

"_Okay." _

_With sore arms, she lifts the little girl onto her back again, continuing to walk back home. _

_The small arms hug her neck again. "…You know, you're as pretty as your chakra." _

_Even though I can't see, goes unsaid. It lingers between them, a heavy statement._

_She continues to walk, a sad smile on her face. "Really?" _

"_Uhuh! It's bright and wispy and kind. Just like you."- she wriggles closer- "I love you, onee-chan. Always."_

_I love you too. I love you so much. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>For chakra is in everything, and everything is in chakra. Only once she becomes nothing, can she gain everything.<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>One: Acceptance<strong>

The clan couldn't be bothered about someone as insignificant as her. They need not to even tell her, she knows her meager worth.

Azami had been herded to live with the orphans who had no direct family relations left. Her new home is a small building on the outskirts of the main compound, slightly falling apart from age and disuse.

With nothing but the threadbare kimono on her back and a heavy heart, she walks into the house.

The corridors are swept clean, the floors well worn. She can smell the lingering scent of soap, and the drifting aroma from the kitchen.

_16 steps forward, 10 steps left, 6 steps left. _She passes a worn wooden cupboard, a scroll with the clan crest hanging on the wall…every small detail is taken in. She observes and memorizes, missing nothing.

Running a hand across the wall, she feels the grooves and the pulsing residue energy around her.

This place must have been filled with children once. Now, they are sent to the battlefield to die for the clan.

Azami stops walking once she reaches an open shoji screen, following the sound of a woman humming.

"Excuse me," she intones once she steps into the room. Her bare feet make no noise.

"Ah! My,"- the lady turns, unperturbed -"Hello, child. You could have called for me- I could have come to pick you up!" She laughs, a merry sound that fills the air with warmth. It is unexpected, as she is thin and looks exhausted despite her youthful face.

She smiles at Azami, her eyes gaining vigor.

The girl stares for a moment, dark eyes wide and bright. "Hello. I am Azami. You must be Kozue-san"-she bows politely-"I am in your care."

"What good manners you have! You have been taught well, Azami-chan," Kozue steps away from the stove, crouching down to her height. A gentle, chapped hand pats her shoulder. "Even though you are so young…"

_Age doesn't matter when the clan decides that it's time for you to be skewered by the Senju_, Azami thinks snidely. She bites her lip to stop herself from talking, lest she is cast out of the only place that will shelter her.

The woman-_Kozue_, smiles knowingly at Azami's tense silence. She stands, taking the girl's small hand in her own.

"Come. I'll show you your room. I've prepared everything you already," Kozue says, her voice gentle as she tugs Azami along. "Everything will be okay, you're safe here."

They walk along the outside corridor. _5 paces…11 paces…left…right turn._

Just as Kozue is about to slide open the door, Azami speaks.

"We are never safe."

Her eyes meet Azami's, and she notices the shade of her iris is slightly off from the typical midnight blue. It is a dark pine green, the green is only revealed under careful scrutiny. Kozue leans closer to examine the girl's choppy hair under the light.

She suspects it is the darkest shade of carmine. Carmine red. Her features are mostly Uchiha—the pale skin, the delicate nose, high cheekbones…undoubtedly an Uchiha.

All throughout this, Azami is frozen still. She speaks again, voice brittle as honeycomb.

"Not now, not here. Never."

Kozue straightens herself, realization dawning.

"Never," she agrees, the word a ghostly whisper on her lips. She remembers the laugh of an innocent child, a faceless man's embrace and the bloodshed that stole them away from her.

Could it have been during an enemy attack, or an unfortunate accident?

_-running- an overturned carriage- screaming- off the cliff- I'll protect you – yelling – it's the Senju!_

Suddenly, Azami is gazing into the depths of the Sharingan, the pride of the Uchiha. It is the first time she's seen it so close.

"I hate them," Kozue murmurs. "I'll never forgive them!"

Azami observes, utterly captivated.

"Me too,"-she replies: _never, ever, forgive- _"…Me too."

* * *

><p>She decides to attend clan training again.<p>

So Azami rejoins the class nonchalantly, uttering nothing about the happenings of the past week. She stands to attention, listening to the instructor with feigned interest.

"Today, you will learn how to create a fireball. If you haven't gotten it yet, watch closely. If this is your first time, watch even closer! Those who succeed will be given the privilege of wearing the clan crest, and will be recognized as adults. Do the clan proud!" He lectures them as he waves his hands animatedly.

Fire. _Fire_.

He goes through the hand seals, and she watches so intently she might as well set him alight with her eyes.

Azami loved ninjutsu classes the most before everything that was precious burned away.

Fire. Fire. _Fire._

Tiger. Ram. Monkey.

She isn't sure if that is the case anymore.

Boar. Horse. Tiger.

"_**Katon: Goukakyuu no Jutsu!"**_

But once the teacher breathes fire, and the massive orb of roaring flame surges upwards towards the sky, she is sure.

Although the residue of heat lingering in the air makes her think of unpleasant things, she locks away the shadows of her past without hesitation. She is distracted by the display of power in front of her; the sheer possibilities of chakra unravel in her mind like a starry night sky.

…And Azami knows. She knows she thinks differently from other people. It isn't normal, for such a child to ponder about the potential of chakra, the infinite number of feats one could do with sufficient control, and amount.

She also knows that the consequence for mastering this fire technique is conscription to the battlefield. Unlike the other children, she does not rush.

Slowly, she runs through the hand signs. Fire. Tiger. Ram. Monkey.

She watches the other students as she pretends to have clumsy fingers. Of course she doesn't, how many times has she threaded a needle to mend her sister's clothes?

How many times has she run through this sequence?

Countless.

Boar. Horse. Tiger. _Again. Again. _

From the corner of her eye, she secretly watches a fellow student standing a distance away from the clusters of children. He is concentrating, hands resting in the _tiger_ position.

Another boy, evidently younger (both are younger than her) is watching on the sidelines, bouncing on the balls of his feet in quiet anticipation.

_Tiger. Ram. Monkey_.

Azami feels a sudden increase in chakra, and even before he finishes the hand seals, she knows he is going to succeed.

_Boar. Horse. Tiger_.

A moderately large fireball rises up into the air.

"Wow! Madara did it!"

"It's always him, no fair."

"That's amazing for his first try."

She knows that boy is talented. Even though he is two years younger than her, he blessed with natural ability.

His pint-sized brother is the only one that could probably keep up.

"I'm not going to lose to you, Madara!"

Azami watches him blow a small fireball into the sky. Still quite impressive, even though he needs to practice more, and maybe grow up a bit so that his chakra coils could mature. It is natural that Madara is stronger than Izuna. He is older, so the law of nature dictates that he would be more experienced.

She thinks Izuna is slightly daft in competing with his brother all the time.

(Once, as part of a training exercise, she had to spar with Madara at the teacher's behest. During Izuna's protests, she was sorely beaten in only a few moments. It hadn't been one of the proudest moments of her life, eating dirt.)

That stain on her dignity had been a year ago, on the first day of his induction into clan training. It had been humiliating, losing to the new kid.

Turning her attention away from the unfairly talented brothers, Azami decides to use them as a distraction for attempting the fireball jutsu away from public scrutiny.

She closes her eyes, and vanishes the lurking memories of fire, and any thoughts of negativity. She can feel the pulsing of chakra under her skin, the life energy flowing through her in an interconnected stream.

_Tiger. Ram. Monkey—_

Azami focuses on her pooling her chakra, compressing it, feeling its warmth under her skin. She knows the precise moment it transforms into dormant fire.

-_Boar. Horse. Tiger._

She takes a deep breath, feeling it surge…

_(She stops the torrent, molding the output into a steady trickle)_

…and blows out a small stream of fire. Of course, she is laughed and jeered at once the other kids notice her. Paying them no mind, she continues to blow the small stream of flame, letting it dissipate into the air.

It looks like a joke.

The teacher shakes his head at her, patting her on the shoulder. 'Do better next time', his expression says.

She ignores the snarky remarks because she stands out in the normal education classes, mentally throwing that self-assured Madara into the metaphorical dirt.

She also pretends not to notice his piercing glance in her direction.

.

.

.

Azami tries to ignore the stare that is boring holes in her back.

A week has passed with her trying to do normal day-to-day activities—like washing her clothes, sleeping on the grassy knolls somewhere else in the forest, eating lunch…with a shadow lurking behind her.

It happens at irregular intervals during the day, making her conclude that Madara follows her around in his free time, otherwise there would be two lurking stalkers, both smaller than her and double the annoyance.

She cannot find any shred of kindness or maternal instinct in her cold heart to see Madara as endearing. Her patience gauge steadily depletes by the second.

Stopping her run through of the basic taijutsu katas, she addresses the nuisance.

"Can you stop creeping around behind me and just say your piece to my face, _Madara_?" She tries not to sound threatening, but she has reached her limit.

Like a walking shadow, he sidles up to her. "Hey," he greets her, no semblance of respect for his elders in his tone.

She doesn't let her annoyance seep into her expression, keeping both her demeanor and voice passive.

"Don't _hey_ me."

The boy shoots her an affronted look. "How else am I supposed to call out?"

She is amazed at his audacity. However, she will not place him on pedestal like the others.

Looking down on him from her superior vantage point, she draws attention to the fact that she is taller than him. His insulted glare gives her petty satisfaction.

"You should greet your elders with at least some modicum of _respect_," –a hand quickly grabs his chin in a pincer grip before he can react, squishing his cheeks in the most unflattering way—"An example would be a: 'Hello, Azami-san, I'd like to talk to you, do you have some time?' and you wouldn't disturb their lives where all is well," she finishes darkly.

"Baabashamu," he replies as her right hand is still squishing his face. His hands grab her wrist, trying to shove it off.

They grapple for dominance.

Azami swiftly lets go of him, instead performing a chokehold. "Why don't you repeat that?" she smiles sinisterly.

Madara scowls at the ground, common sense and pride battling inside him. He mutters lowly.

"…Bakazami."

The smile turns severely strained. She slowly releases him, and his hands are on his hips, that prideful look on his face.

He raises an eyebrow. "You asked me to repeat myself."

"I did, didn't I?" she muses to herself.

Spinning around, she kicks him in the stomach, initiating a spar even though she has vowed to herself never to train with him in her life.

.

.

.

She lies on the ground like a starfish, once again beaten. However, this time, she has given him many nasty bruises.

"You act like Izuna," Madara says as he leans back against a tree trunk.

Dark green clashes with onyx. Azami takes a deep breath, as she stands up next to him, steadying herself by gripping his shoulder with painful intensity.

"You're insinuating that my maturity is at the level of a _seven_ year old." She lets him shake her hand off his bruised shoulder.

Passively, she hooks a leg behind him and trips him, giving a further push so he lies on the grass face down.

"…You're worse than Izuna. Much worse."

She contemplates grabbing his arm and dislocating it. Her imagination puts her mind at rest. Sitting down next to the nuisance, she graciously ignores his verbal jab.

"Now, you're testing my patience. Would _you_ like it if I hunted you in my spare time, lurking_ right behind you_?" she questions him exasperatedly.

"No way! I hate it when people stand behind me!" Madara raises his head off the ground to yell.

She gives him a pointed stare. He meets her gaze directly, which annoys her further because he doesn't have the capacity to understand the subtleties of a mature conversation.

Grinding her knuckles on either side of his hand teaches him a lesson. "_…Then don't do it to other people." _Dimwit, she adds non-verbally as she lets him suffer the after-effects.

Strangely, he is perceptive to the most useless things. "You called me stupid in your brain just then, didn't you?"

Azami sighs. "Please. I don't want to deal with you anymore. What do you want, Madara? Just say it already, so I can leave for peace and quiet."

He doesn't answer her, slowly getting to his feet. He crosses his arms as he stares down at her.

"Why did you screw up the fireball jutsu on purpose?"

All joking and feelings of annoyance aside, Madara is seriously asking her. For a moment, she thinks that he might try to blackmail her into servitude. She dismisses the idea as quickly as it appeared. Over-estimating a person's intelligence never does anyone any favours.

Azami ponders her answer, thinking of a way to avoid directly reply and lie by omission.

"Don't lie to me," Madara says sternly. "I don't like liars."

She doesn't care what he thinks of her, but his words create a wave of nostalgia to that crashes down.

'_Please, tell me the truth' _A small, frail voice echoes in her mind. It induces aches in her heart. It makes her painfully aware of the two voids in her chest, torn by force and taken by death too early.

She breathes in deeply. "Fire…brings back sad memories. My mother and sister—_died_…and-and the clan burned…every-thing. I don't—it feels so unreal. It can't be true. I…I don't want this to be the truth!"

_(Thanks, 'zami.)_

She buries her face in her hands. "I'm tired of this, Madara. I'm so tired. I don't want to say anymore"-she wails-"I-I'm just so tired!"

Surprisingly, he remains silent, just listening.

"…Why do you even care? We're not even friends."

The boy, no longer a nuisance, furrows his brow in thought. "I'm Uchiha Madara," – he ignores her sarcastic remark about mental deficiencies—"And you're Uchiha Azami. We're both Uchiha, so we should help each other, because I'm on your side. Always."

Trust Madara to always be so self-assured, even when he doesn't make sense.

…I'm on your side. Always.

_(I love you, onee-chan. Always.)_

The lock breaks. And the tears fall, for the first time since they died.

"Oi. Azami…what's wrong with you?"

She sinks to her knees, sobbing grievously. "I…I don't"-a hiccup-"kn-n-ow!"

Madara freezes in confusion before reaching out and patting her head, the motion stilted. His late mother used to stroke his head, when he had been young—_too _young to even remember her face.

His touch is gentle, and Azami cannot stop crying.

_(You know, you're as pretty as your chakra. It's bright and wispy and kind. Just like you.)_

She weeps for her sister, her mother and her home. She weeps for the ashes of her past. She weeps, and remembers.

Azami remembers that the past it long gone.

- _bright and wispy and kind –_

Just like Madara.

* * *

><p>At night, she dreams.<p>

She dreams of huge black birds wearing terrifying masks and flying across the sky like an ill-omened shooting star. On the ground are mammoth-sized beasts—one roar leaves only death and destruction in their wake.

She dreams of endless forests, one step inside and it comes to life—the wood is growing, growing, growing into a huge, gnarled tree. A forbidden fruit hangs off an ancient branch, waiting to be plucked.

She dreams of the truth. She sees it, that light so close yet so far and reaches out, fingers grasping—

By dawn, she forgets everything.

* * *

><p><strong>つづく<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>End notes<strong>

_This is my tribute to the anime of my childhood. Naruto has ended, but it still continues on within my heart. _

_Azami is the darkest and most complex character I've ever created. I will enjoy writing her. This chapter was about her coming to terms with the world. Now she needs to find out what to do about it. (The ages are: Azami is 10, Madara is 8, and little Izuna is 7)_

_I originally planned this fic as a short, three-chapter story dedicated to the end of Naruto, but I kept adding arcs in and I went on huge tangents and I started including many of the cast characters of Naruto for different arcs and I'm still expanding on things that I want to write about. This is a test chapter, to see what kind of feedback and reader interest and all that stuff. _

_This fic will adhere to canon. There will be some kind of romance sub-plot with a character I've already chosen, but that's not the point of the story. _

_Any questions? Thoughts? _

_Much work to do,_

_**Tollpatsch**_


	2. Absurd Wisdom

**.**

**天逆毎**

**Ama no Zako**

**.**

**Learning Phase: Realm of Hell**

**地獄道**

**Jigokudou**

* * *

><p>"Learning without thought means labour lost; thought without learning is perilous."<p>

- _Old Chinese Proverb_

* * *

><p>Another secluded outpost is attacked. Roughly half his class are recruited for the battlefield. They are cannon fodder.<p>

Izuna isn't selected this time. But Madara is.

.

.

.

**Two: Absurd Wisdom**

There is no one he can truly test his skills against. Madara has left for the front lines, and Izuna's younger brothers are just starting their ninja training.

_This is boring_, he thinks as he throws shuriken at the training post. It's always less interesting when the class numbers cleave into half because it usually stays that way. Only some people come back from the front lines. The rest die to protect the clan.

He is grateful for the sacrifices. It's all for the greater good, of course.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Of course, Madara will come back. He's strong, so he will definitely be fine.

Thunk.

Definitely.

Thunk. _Thunk. _

A perfect line. His aim is better today. Feeling confident, he readies more shuriken in his hands to try the harder techniques—

"Impossible! A mere child won't have enough control, lest enough chakra to do anything you're saying."

Izuna turns to observe the quarrelling duo. It happens often enough, where that girl would speak up, out of the blue, and disagree with whatever the teacher says. She would spout outlandish ideas, _treasonous_ words that sent the instructor into a rage.

"But, _sensei_! Think about the potential of this idea—see, by compressing chakra into the thinnest disk, but it needs to be rotating, you see!" She gesticulates wildly, to the teacher's chagrin.

"Azami, stop. You wouldn't know where to start with something like that," the man sighs.

She continues on, unperturbed. "…We would combine fire and wind transformations to amplify the technique—maybe ten, no _twenty_ people would work on this and _whoosh_! It cuts through and burns through the enemies!"

The man folds his arms, resigned. "Azami…"

"We need a decisive technique, a one-hit-kill! Something no one can stop, because of course we wouldn't let go of our stupid _pride _and we kill and kill and kill—".

"Azami! Stop this nonsense!" he barks at her, an edge in his voice.

She stands her ground, defiant. "Nonsense?"- she snarls- "People are dying out there! You know what the clan stands for, after you take away the fancy jutsu and the Sharingan? You're murderers! This is a clan of mur—"

_Slap_. It resounds through the air, and Izuna winces as she falls to the ground from the force of the hit.

"You will not slander the clan any more. Our cause is just."

_Just? Not exactly. _Izuna isn't so sure about that proclamation. He turns away from the argument that should be finishing up soon.

Unexpectedly, the last words are Azami's.

"Mark my words, _sensei_. This clan is done for! One day, the Uchiha will cause its own downfall…and we'll all be going to hell, _together!_" she shrieks.

The pattering of her footsteps gets closer, and she runs past him like a whirlwind.

Her words resonate with him, an ill-omened projection of the future.

.

.

.

Izuna finds her sulking at the edge of the compound, in a deserted clearing. She doesn't react to his presence, even when he stands right next to her. She just keeps laying there, face in the grass.

A cool breeze tickles his face. He crouches beside her.

"Maybe you should get the fireball jutsu right first before you try other things," he suggests amiably.

Azami groans in response. "Shut up."

A beat of silence passes. "…Also, when you were practicing with the wooden sword, your grip was horribly wrong. You were wielding it like a spear—"

"Shut up, Izuna! I'm not compatible with swords. And besides, no one cares."

He doesn't rise to the bait. "How'd you know it's me?"

Her shoulders slump. "Only you would be annoyingly smug. And once you got close enough, I knew it was you."

"I'm not smug," he replies passively.

"Yes, you are. You _and_ your brother are both smug little demon spawns." She raises her head, high enough for him to see the angry red mark on her left cheek.

Izuna smiles. "Is that your roundabout way of complimenting us?"

"No."- she sits up- "Fine, _alright _stop looking at me like that! I'll admit that you two are talented. Can you leave me alone now? I can never get any peace and quiet," she grumbles.

He hugs his knees closer to his body. "Peace," he mutters. "Why did you say all that…before?"

Another breeze picks up, this time a cold caress. He watches her closely.

Azami shrinks into herself. "Nothing. I just got really angry, okay? When you bottle up emotions, it tends to explode—why am I even…what are you, my therapist?" she scowls.

He shakes his head. "I just think the same."

"…What?"

He stands, brushing fallen leaves and bits of grass off his pants. "If we lose to the Senju, we'll probably all die. The only way to live is to fight in a battle started by the people before us. So sometimes, you need to think about the bigger picture. Fighting isn't a choice, it's a must. If I need to kill, to _murder…_to protect my brothers and my family, I will fight to my last breath. "

The gentle admonishment makes her flush in shame. She shouldn't have spoken to the teacher like that, nor have treated the sacrifices of the dead as meaningless. They died for the clan, and that wish at least should be respected.

Chastened, Azami lowers her gaze to her feet. "I understand," – her eyes are unyielding –"But I won't die for the clan like some blind follower. I'll die on my own terms. I'll die laughing in my enemy's face—be it death or fate or the will of god."

She pats his shoulder. "Though…I think it's sad that a five year old is telling me how he's going to kick the bucket."

"I'm seven." He removes her hand with two fingers, treating it like it's a particularly nasty germ.

"Sure you are."

"I'm not that much younger than you!"

"You keep believing that."

And their good-natured banter makes him temporarily forget about the war, about Madara on the front lines, and all the terrors of the world that haunt him at night.

* * *

><p>Izuna's dreams are saturated with terror.<p>

Day after day, the faces of his enemies: adults and children alike haunt him; clear as the moment he killed them. He wonders if they also had families—a brother, a sister, a mother, a lover…

However, no shred of remorse can be spared, otherwise it would be_ his_ cold corpse on the battlefield.

He sees his worst fear—Madara and father and all his brothers fall, lifeless. He sees the Uchiha clan in shambles, his home in ruins. He sees death.

A single thought pervades his mind. _I want to live!_

Even when the world burns to ashes in front of him, he wants to live.

Disgusted with himself, the nightmare morphs into one where is falling and falling and falling…a never ending plunge into the dark unknown. But somehow, he knows.

He knows he is falling into a living hell.

.

.

.

Izuna wakes up.

.

.

.

"No lessons?"

"Yes, Izuna-kun. Most of the able-bodied shinobi are busy now—either on a mission…or fighting," his new caretaker explains, her youthful face drawn tight at the mention of battle. "So, clan training is put on hold for now."

He brings the bowl of miso soup to his lips, devouring the hearty breakfast with enthusiasm. "Normal lessons as well?"

"That's right,"-she gestures at his recently emptied rice bowl- "Seconds?"

"Thank you, Kozue-san." Taking his bowl back, he notices the emptiness of the dining room. "Where are Shinsei and Jinrou?"

"Your brothers are in tutoring now at the dormitory I'm in charge of. I've introduced them to a very bright teacher who excels in academic subjects," Kozue explains, peaking his interest. She smiles, speaking gently. Izuna is the age her son would be now, if he were still alive.

She brushes the painful thoughts away. It wouldn't do, to be sad on such a beautiful morning. She catches his gaze.

"Would you like to join them?"

* * *

><p>Izuna stares as he slide open the door mid-way. "You."<p>

Azami stares back, the bruise on her face still unhealed and prominent. She places down a calligraphy brush at the interruption. "Yes. Me. Is there anything you need?"

The situation takes him by surprise. For once he is at a loss for words.

Amused, she beckons him in to sit at the low table. "Here for some enlightenment?"

He does not answer, instead noting two unoccupied places opposite him. The piles of work with messy arithmetic scrawls and childish handwriting made it obvious who had just been in here.

He sighs softly, finding the ability to speak again. "Shinsei and Jinrou?"

"Out playing in the main courtyard," Azami replies as she resumes writing. "They've been here for most of the morning, and they _were_ going to find their 'beloved' older brother, but I think they forgot about you."

He folds his arms onto the table, getting comfortable. "Figures. Children have short memory spans."

"You're a child too, you know."

"By clan standards, I'm an adult," – he quips back – "I heard that you finally got the fireball jutsu right before Sensei left. You kind of count as an adult too, now. Congratulations."

She still has that apathetic look on her face, which annoys him somewhat. "That's not a good thing"- she says softly – "The older we are, the narrower our minds become."

He finds himself asking her to speak more before he realises what he is doing.

A glint in her eye, she continues to talk. "Even if I read all the scrolls our clan has, it won't be enough."

"Why?"

"That's because we're cooped up here, in this forest. We're bound by our hate for the Senju. We're constricted by the ninja code—whatever that may be" – a longing glance towards the sky outside – "I want to know things, I want to see the world with my own eyes before I believe everything someone tells me. I want to discover what's beyond the boundaries of jutsu, of chakra, of ninjas."

Suddenly a little embarrassed, she glances at him. "Don't you ever feel like that?"

Izuna tilts his head in thought. "Well. No, not really. I'm satisfied with knowing that the Sage of Six Paths created jutsu. That's enough."

Azami jumps to her feet, no longer embarrassed by her ramblings. "What about travelling? Aren't you ever curious about the world outside this forest?"

"People sometimes go on long-term missions," he shrugs.

A moment of calm passes before the storm.

"No! No, no, _no!_ That's not travelling, that doesn't count! I've heard about something called the 'ocean', about mountains that spit flaming water, about _people _that can turn into water and use flaming water jutsu…or, going a little closer to us, the rumour that there's a Senju kid that can grow plants from nothing…doesn't that pique your curiosity, not even a little bit?"

He shakes his head. "The Uchiha clan will still be the best. We have the Sharingan."

"Tut-tut, Izuna. Too much pride will cause a fall. People like you shouldn't rely too much on the Sharingan," she groans, somehow irking him with her tone.

"You talk as if you won't awaken it" – he stops, noticing her disheartened face – "What's wrong?"

Azami sits down slowly, slumping. "I don't think I'll get the Sharingan. Not everyone awakens it. And it usually corresponds with talent."

"But there's still a chance. You're still an Uchiha."

She frowns. "Half. My dad was an outsider."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"He's dead," she adds.

"Yeah."

Izuna clears his throat awkwardly, not sure how to deal with this situation.

"Well, now that you've said it. I can see the dissimilarities." He motions at her. "Your hair and your eyes are a different shade. It's subtle, but once you know where to look…it's as clear as day."

"Don't point it out," Azami grumbles self-consciously. "Even though I want to get out of this place—I still want to feel like belong. I wish my dad was an Uchiha…Maybe, just maybe…" she trails off, her previous high spirits thoroughly muted.

He cannot offer any words of comfort. He is torn between abhorring the idea of an Uchiha procreating with an outsider and pitying her. Both are bad options.

Silence. He says nothing, instead avoiding her piercing stare.

_Tap!_

…It's the only sound he hears before Kozue appears in the room suddenly, confirming his suspicions about her being a kunoichi (she moves too fluidly, to gracefully, too silently to _just_ be a caretaker).

Her announcement makes him spring to his feet, all thoughts about Azami's parents forgotten. It forces him to rush out towards the main courtyard, barefoot and excited.

"_Madara is back! The mission was a success!"_

Relief surges through every pore in his body, as he runs to his brother who has returned, alive and well. He dashes towards him with vigor, to welcome home his rival…his _family_.

* * *

><p>Madara wears his right arm in a sling. Apparently, he broke his wrist, a few fingers and his arm by punching someone too hard. The medics healed him, but a week of healing is needed for full recuperation.<p>

_Uchiha medics aren't as skilled as the Senju ones, _Izuna thinks begrudgingly. So, no sparring. But he keeps going back to that dormitory for orphans—to debate, to discuss and just to talk with that girl. It's interesting, the nonsense she's spouting.

He does learn some more history and mathematics…and sits through her long tirades about the lack of literature because of...'the segregation of all the clans'. He only bears her tangents because he acknowledges the capabilities of her mind—where, despite its absurdities, is probably legions ahead of his and Madara's combined. It becomes tedious to listen to her though, whilst his younger brothers spar in the courtyard, free and unbothered by wordy speeches.

So he brings Madara along to make Madara suffer the lectures with him. Misery loves company, they say.

It had been a good idea at the time, but…

"You look terrible." The first sentence Madara says to Azami isn't the best greeting.

She purses her lips. "You're as impudent as always. I see, even a broken arm won't get you to stay in line,"- she sneers – "Maybe I should break the other one."

"As if you could, you're weaker than me," his (sometimes idiotic) brother scoffs back.

"Even an average ninja won't lose to a talented _cripple_."

Madara snaps at the bait dangling in front of him. "I would never lose to some half—"

Izuna claps his hands loudly to diffuse the tension. "Okay, okay! Well, everyone's here now for the _enlightening_ lesson. Azami, won't you take a seat? Madara, you too. Look at Shinsei and Jinrou, they're so _quiet_, aren't they?"

Both younger boys beam at the eldest brother. Subdued, Madara ruffles their hair with a hand before sitting down next to Azami. They glare at each other for a moment, deciding that a fight isn't worth it.

She hands back their work from yesterday, giving Madara a worn, bounded book."Read that, Madara. You can't write with that sling, anyway," Azami says civilly.

Izuna nods his head in approval at how she is finally acting more like her age.

"…the devil spawns have multiplied, and now they're all here in my haven of peace and quiet. My life is ruined."

_Not quite as mature then_, he retracts his judgement in a flash. Sliding his gaze towards Madara's, his older brother remains strangely introspective and agreeable. It is the youngest in the room that speaks, instead.

"Not everyone," Jinrou says solemnly, his dark hair sticking up in all directions. "Takama's not here."

Ah, yes. Takama. Who could forget poor Takama?

"Takama's dead!" Shinsei blurts out loudly. "The bad Senjus got him and mummy in a raid!"

True, true, all that is true. The ugly truth.

A shadow passes over his heart at the thought of that harsh reality. Somber, Izuna clasps his hands in his lap. Madara is still silent. Silently raging.

Azami is watching them in cold scrutiny. Her observant stare has never unnerved him until now.

Madara breaks the stillness first.

"…I tried to keep them safe, but I couldn't protect them."

Izuna bows his head in agreement. His mother and Takama's death can still cause an ache in his heart, a hole in his soul that could never heal. A wound that always bleeds.

"We are never safe," Azami replies insightfully. "Not now, not here. Never."

_Never. _She is right. They could never be safe.

Not now or in the bleak-looking future…not here, in this living hell.

Never.

* * *

><p><strong>つづく<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>End notes<strong>

_Well. This chapter had to be cut into two; otherwise it wouldn't make as much sense. It's a sort of follow-up to the first one. I try to build on each chapter, to weave the storyline properly. _

_Anyway, the foreshadowing has finally started. There'll also be tonnes next chapter as well. I thought about writing a Self-Insert, but I wanted a more complex premise. I want to write about something that could have happened before canon, a sort of epic, untold adventure that involves lots of action, suspense, and sadness that builds characters into what we see them as. _

_Did anyone see the brief Hashirama mention? What do you think about Azami so far? Any interesting thoughts?_

_Much laughs,_

_**Tollpatsch.**_


	3. Unravelling Lies

**.**

**天逆毎**

**Ama no Zako**

**.**

**Learning Phase: Realm of Hell**

**地獄道**

**Jigokudou**

* * *

><p>"All the world's a stage,<p>

And all the men and women merely players…"

.

― William Shakespeare, _As You Like It, _Act II Scene VII

* * *

><p><em>It happens all too fast. He suddenly appears, an explosion of splinters and wild chakra. <em>

"_You thief!" _

_A yell. Mother screams. Mother is sobbing…she doesn't know anything about it, no, of course not—she wouldn't know because she'd never been the same after she was born. Mother had never been in the right mind, and she knew her sister distanced herself because of that. _

_Because Azami is too kind. _

"_Where are the treasures you stole?" the man roars, his chakra a dark mess. It is strong, and reeks of depravity. _

_She trembles. She shakes when the darkness invades every pore in her body. She is fearful when Mummy is thrown into the floor like a discarded doll. _

_Azami would do something in this situation. But Azami isn't here right now. _

"_We don't know…sir, please leave us be," she implores, voice quivering. Phantom pains from her useless legs shoot up, and she is struggling not to collapse then and there. _

_The man is quiet, tense. The darkness recedes back into its hiding place. _

_His voice is deceptively calm. "Very well. I will find them, even if I have to raze this useless compound into the ground." _

_A metallic sound rings through the room. A sword being sheathed maybe? _

_He disappears, a different man from the raging one before. But it is one and the same. _

_She relaxes a little, steadying her breathing. Her legs still hurt. She breathes. In. Out. In. Out. Steady, steady. Slowly, slowly. Everything is alright. _

_The quiet sobs stop, and she hears her mother get up to her feet. Slowly, slowly. _

"…_Honami?" _

_She gasps. There is a strange clarity to her voice, a sort of recognition that she had always longed for. But the air is tense, her mother's chakra volatile. Changing, morphing into something else. Something strange. _

_Something different, but entirely the same. _

_Strange. Wrong. Strange. It's wrong._

_Honami's intuition foretells a foreboding end. She reaches for the kunai hidden in her sleeve, a relic from training days long gone. She is never the same after the fall, and Azami has never forgiven herself for letting her out of her sight. _

_Time stops. Azami isn't home yet._

_She gulps._

_Strange. Strange. Strange._

It is the first and last time Mother has called her name.

.

I don't want to die.

.

Numb.

She is sitting on her knees for what seems like decades.

_No, no-no-no. I don't know. No. _

"It was a surprise Senju raid. Are you injured?" The shinobi arriving says, but she does not respond.

She is numb.

_It's not supposed to be like this. _

"Honami…" she rasps. "Mother."

_Why are they…sleeping like this?_

Numb.

She raises her hand to her face. No blood on her hands.

"You have to leave now, girl. We need to gather the survivors," a hand grabs her arm, lifting her up, dragging her way.

No, no, no! Let go of me! Honami and my mother are still there!

They're just sleeping!

"They're dead."

Hot tears, finally a sensation of something burning her heart away drives the numbness away. She screams, she screams so much her throat becomes raw.

_Liar, you're lying!_

There's no blood on her hands.

She turns towards her family for one last look. They are lying there, broken and sleeping. Her sister is clutching a kunai. There is blood everywhere, like a macabre piece of art.

She will sear the image into her brain, carving out a place for it.

There is blood on the kunai. On Honami's hands.

They try to ask her what happened, but she is mute. Only when they set fire to the ruined compound, even though the northern outpost was falling apart anyway, does she speak.

"I don't know," she says hoarsely, a wave of calm washing over her. "I didn't see anything."

There's no blood on her hands.

Her cool front protects her from the monsters lurking in the darkness, waiting to consume her.

Numb. She is numb.

_No blood on my hands._

She is numb. It is nothing. It is gone.

.

.

.

Azami awakes from the nightmare, gasping for air.

_Just a dream. _Just a dream.

The first slivers of dawn light are making their way into her room. Today is the funeral. She will not attend.

Slowly, slowly, she leaves the warmth of her blankets.

A morning run would clear her mind. Stamina training never harmed anyone.

She will not go to that memorial, that funeral, that burial—whatever it is. She will not bid goodbye to Honami, her breath of life, her precious, precious sister. Even Mother. They are not a memory now. They still exist.

She can still feel their touch—light, gentle. A soothing ambience, and she knows. She knows that Honami's will is still running through her veins. Calming and strong, that silent stubbornness so unique about her still exists.

Wiping the sleep and the tears from her eyes, she faces the new day.

After all, with her sister's chakra running through her veins, she is ready to take on the world.

* * *

><p><strong>Three: Unravelling Lies<strong>

The lessons continue even when Madara doesn't need a sling anymore. Four bratty children hassle her day after day—actually, the two youngest kids are quite endearing, unlike their older brothers. So it becomes bearable, to describe it loosely.

Izuna resembles a proud black cat: sharp, sly and serious. Madara…reminds Azami of one of those animals from the far away rocky lands in the northwest—the one with spines.

A porcupine.

"So?" Impatiently, said person hounds Azami for an answer. If he could be represented as an animal, the porcupine would be curled up into a little ball, bristling like the bratty child he is.

Her arm suffers spasms under the table because she tries to quash her rising ire, and the need to punch him in the face.

_Patience. Patience. Don't throttle him. Patience. _

She sighs, looking through his writing. His handwriting is a good combination of neat and artful. "You're actually smarter than I had originally thought you were. But the kunai trajectory questions aren't really good."

"Theory and calculations don't matter when I can just throw it directly at targets," – he crosses his arms defensively – "Sometimes, thinking too much wastes precious time and that equals death."

From beside him, Izuna shakes his head in silent laughter—already predicting Azami's snippy answer.

She narrows her eyes into green slits. "…And not thinking is just idiotic and also equals death. People should always think _before _they act, _during _action and _always _reflect on their actions to improve."

A pause.

"…Do you have anything to add, Izuna?"

He coughs out a response, turning straight-faced. "No. Of course not."

"Good," she says whilst shooting daggers at Madara, who had been rolling his eyes.

"Actually, I do have one question which isn't related to the lesson," – Izuna leans into the table – "Why are you still here? The funeral for your…community is happening now."

She is silent, waiting for the unintentional barbed comment. Actually, she isn't sure that Izuna is purposefully or unconsciously like that. Or, all this could be overthinking and reading too deeply into Izuna's personality and therefore meaningless conjecture.

"…You don't want to pay your last respects to your dead family?"

_Ah. I see. _

There it is, the sting under his seemingly 'gently-prying' question. Despite her souring mood, she tries to gather her thoughts.

"I—well…there's a time and place for everything. My period of mourning as well," – a small tug on her shirt sleeve diverts her attention away – "Hey. Jinrou, Shinsei. Don't just crawl under the table like that."

Shinsei stares at her sombrely. And despite his quiet countenance, which is strangely reminiscent of Madara, sans the raging, he speaks. "Does your heart hurt?"

Uchiha Shinsei, a boy of few words.

His antithesis, Jinrou, jumps into her lap. "We'll fix you, Azami! Don't be sad, because we'll definitely get back at them for you—pow, _bam_ and poof!"

She finally cracks a smile when they both hug her, clinging to her like barnacles. Her thoughts must be really obvious, for little children to read her like the Sharingan seeing hand signs.

These two are too cute for their own good.

Her gaze unconsciously meets Izuna's, the sting of his words not fading yet. He smiles blankly at her, not budging a millimetre from his seat. "No thanks. I'm not a very touchy-feely person."

"Understandable," Azami replies shakily, the tremors in her voice barely evident. "I am too."

Thankfully, Madara doesn't say anything untoward when she cuddles his two youngest brothers. He works in silence as she reads a story to the two in her lap, trying to cover up the tension that she caused.

The sharply defined lines of her sight blur. Every image bleeds into each other.

They don't say anything even though she is holding Shinsei and Jinrou close to her—squeezing them like they could suddenly vanish from her embrace. Even Madara considerately turns a blind eye to her quiet sniffles.

No, of course she isn't crying. She only has some dust in her eye. Just some dust.

Everything eventually becomes dust. The Senju, the Uchiha, her family—all people, all things fade away with the passing of time.

This whole world…just a quintessence of dust.

.

.

.

"Excuse me."

The quiet atmosphere is interrupted the door slides open.

A grim-faced Kozue walks in wearing a black yukata, the paleness of her skin standing out even more against the dark colour.

"Kozue-san!" the four brothers greet her in sync before Azami even opens her mouth.

Tired, the woman smiles at them, before kneeling next to her. She turns towards Kozue in response.

A murmur, speaking volumes.

_The clan head wishes to see you._

Lead. Someone has slipped a block of lead in her throat and she must swallow it.

She cannot.

Handing both Shinsei and Jinrou to Kozue, Azami slowly rises to her feet. Without glancing at Madara and Izuna, she mumbles a half-hearted '_I'm going to the bathroom_' as she leaves them behind.

She won't look back.

* * *

><p>Azami's view of the clan head is built on her years of eavesdropping, rumours and hearsay about the man. Even Madara and Izuna would probably have a more accurate portrait of the man's personality, with his father being apart of the council.<p>

Uchiha Tsuze. The clan hails him as one of the most skilled kenjutsu experts. Tall, bearded and muscular—he is known for wearing his hair long, as a part of his warrior code. Apparently, the swings of his sword cut so cleanly, you don't even know you are injured until too late.

Until fairly recently, he had a wife and two young children.

She has never met him face-to-face.

But when she sits on her knees formally in his presence, his face—his countenance seems familiar. She must have met him before, but nothing comes to mind. It's strange because Azami never forgets the people she has encountered—no matter how long ago, or how brief it was. She never forgets.

_This is weird. _

The sitting room is simple and clean. The shoji door is left half open, letting a refreshing spring breeze tickle her cheeks. A lingering spiral of smoke from a tobacco pipe wafts into the air. There is no such thing as personal touch in Uchiha Tsuze's home.

She bows her head. "Good afternoon, Tsuze-dono."

"Good afternoon," he replies humourlessly. "Uchiha Azami, do you know why I have summoned you?"

Her back grows rigid, and she forces down the urge to fidget because of the uncomfortable sitting position.

"No, sir."

Her answer seems to displease him, because his face is just a little more tense than before. "What do you remember of the attack on the Northern outpost?"

Azami purses her lips in thought. Something about this man doesn't sit right with her. Also, the destruction of her home can be partly attributed to him because he never paid the outpost any attention whatsoever. It was like a sitting duck for enemies to attack whenever they felt like.

She possesses a bias against the clan head, which greatly clouds a purely rational judgement of the man.

However, her intuition is saying that she shouldn't tell him the whole truth.

Putting on a pained expression, she takes in a deep breath. "I…don't remember much. Just, I came back from out gathering herbs and my mother and sister…were already killed. It was a very, very sad day."

Tsuze remains grim. "Anything about the attackers?"

Raising her eyebrows, she shakes her head innocently. "No. It was empty when I arrived. The Senju raided the outpost, didn't they?"

He pauses, piercing her with his dark eyes. For a split-second, she thinks she sees the Sharingan—but it might have been a hallucination.

"Yes," – he says slowly – "The Senju."

"…Also, I am still mourning their deaths. I cannot speak any more of the incident without feeling pain," she waves her hand about theatrically, playing up the 'mentally-shaken little girl grieving'.

"Hm," is all he responds with—not even one word of the sympathy. He looks out into his garden.

Tsuze lets her to stew in tense silence. He doesn't speak another word as he sips his tea. All he does is attempt to distance himself away from her as far as possible. Probably whilst harbouring disapproving thoughts. Her parentage is common knowledge within the clan.

Reaching within his kimono sleeve, he pulls out a poorly wrapped package.

"Open it."

Azami cautiously moves closer to the low table, hand ghosting over the string that held it all together. Tugging on it, she gradually unveils what is hiding beneath.

A small gasp escapes her. "It's beautiful."

Four jade magatama strung on a tough, shiny, black cord. The comma shape of the beads reminds her of the tomoe of a Sharingan. It is in almost perfect condition, sans one bead with a crack running through the glimmering green surface. Each jade bead is a different colour: on light purple, one a golden yellow, a pale green and the cracked one is a strange icy blue.

The coolness of the jade is so different from the warmth of her fingertips.

It looks as if it is glowing.

"What does this mean, showing me this?" Azami asks politely.

Tsuze crosses his arms. "It was found near your sister's corpse. It was probably her possession." He looks straight into her eyes. "Did she carry this around with her?"

Again, she shakes her head. "I don't know," – upon seeing his expression, she carefully changes the implication of her words – "I hadn't been talking to Honami as often before she…died. Maybe she found it somewhere, or Mother may have bought it from that travelling merchant last year. You remember the merchant, the one with red hair?"

A wry smile. "I do. He caused the clan some trouble in the past."

She smiles back courteously.

Tsuze looks at the package. "Take this with you as a…memento."

"Yes…thank you, sir." She reaches for the necklace, the jade cool against her skin. She begins to wrap it up again, her heart heavy.

Just as she stands, he addresses her again. "Azami."

"Yes, Tsuze-dono?"

"Have you ever heard about the Three Sacred Treasures?"

_Yes. I have._

She turns to face him.

"I don't know," she says instead, the lie flowing smoothly from her mouth. "If you'll excuse me…" She motions to leave in the most polite way possible.

He nods.

As she moved towards opening the shoji door, he talks again. "You seem to be unaware of a lot of things, aren't you?"

"My memory is hazy from grief," she says coolly. She bows.

"Have a nice night, Tsuze-dono."

After getting a reasonable distance away, she sighs. She resolves to never see that man again.

But there are times that plans go awry.

.

.

.

_She's taking too long._

Madara scowls as he devours the snacks Kozue brought in.

_She's been in the bathroom for way too long. Did she fall in? Or is she just taking a—_

"Azami must be taking a super long crap," Izuna remarks, mirroring his thoughts.

Jinrou throws his arms up, the inarizushi squashed in a small hand.

"Constipate!" the little boy squeals as Shinsei swipes his food and shoving it into his mouth. The usually quiet Shinsei joins him, both chanting, 'Constipate!' over and over again.

"It's constipated. She's constipated," Izuna corrects them over their mantra.

"…Or constipation," Madara adds smugly, a sense of victory at verbally attacking someone who isn't there to defend themself. Wrong calculations are for the weak.

"Constipated! Constipation! Constipatation-Constipatated-consti—!"

A haggard voice interrupts the chorus. "You two…don't spout nonsense to the innocent children."

Izuna adopts a wide-eyed look. "I _am_ an innocent child."

"I doubt that. You're more of a demon spawn." She takes the two youngest by their hands. "Come on, children. Kozue-san says it's bath time."

Both are reluctant to leave. Children never seem to like bathing—even her little sister when they were young…

Azami tugs them up. She glances at the other two, just sitting there and not moving. "Children? Why aren't you coming?"

Kozue told her that they all bathed together before, no big deal. So why aren't the two oldest brats responding?

Izuna holds his hand in front of him, palm open and rigid. "I'm fine. No thanks. Not now. Maybe later. _Separately_. Right, _brother_?"

Madara's head is turned away. "No way in hell," he mutters.

_Weirdos. _Azami ignores their edgy responses to pay attention to the little ones in her grip.

"Okay then. Let's go, Shinsei—_no_, don't run in the halls Jinrou!" They all leave, and it is just Izuna and Madara in the room.

"You're blushing," Izuna observes, keeping a poker face.

His brother bristles like an endangered porcupine. "I. Am. _Not_."

"Pffft—" is the only thing Izuna can say before Madara tackles him into the tatami floor. And he is laughing at his brother's flushed face.

All seems right with the world. He is happy.

* * *

><p>"…and then, I sent your measurements to the tailor for some clothes that actually fit you. You're a growing girl, after all."<p>

Azami listens to Kozue's smooth voice, finding herself feeling exceptionally grateful under the care of such an attentive woman. She soaps her hair, lifting up the tresses to meet at the crown of her head.

"…So before the children return from their mission—which is taking very long…I'm thinking of showing you something interesting—oh?"

The sudden break in her sentence made Azami stop massaging her head, the soapy bubbles dripping down her face and narrowly missing the sensitive eye area. Soap getting into her eyes is always a bad situation.

"Kozue-san?"

Kozue leans closer, a befuddled expression spreading across her pretty face. "That. On your collarbone. A lotus tattoo?"

_Ah._ That.

"It's a birthmark," Azami explains. She tilts her head, second-guessing herself. "I think. My sister has one too. Actually, she _had_ one."

Kozue smiles sadly. "It's a beautiful shape."

"Yeah." She empties the bucket of warmed water onto her soaped body, washing the suds away. "I think so too."

The conversation flows to natural stop, and a few moments of peace and tranquillity transpire between them. It is too quiet.

Loud splashing sounds come from the large bath.

"Don't play too much," Kozue calls, standing up. "What are you two doing?"

Wrapping a damp towel around her head to hold up her hair, Azami walks over to the wooden bath as well. She sighs at the sight.

Shinsei is splashing water at Jinrou, who seems to have fainted from staying in the heat for too long. Overactive children. Too much energy in their little bodies.

Azami offers to take Jinrou home after he recovers enough. She surmises that Madara and Izuna have probably went to the communal bath already instead of wasting their time to wait for their youngest brothers to play around. They'll be back to pick Shinsei up anyway.

From hindsight, she should have just let Jinrou stay overnight instead of wandering the compound in the dead of night with him, when the place is silent and evils lurk in the shadows.

It isn't her fault that she doesn't know the exact location of their home. Every home looks the same at night. It isn't her fault that she is too tired to be making careful decisions.

She catches movement from the corner of her eye. The pattern of that kimono is familiar—she'd seen it earlier today.

_Uchiha Tsuze._

Now, where is he going at such a late hour? It reeks of suspicious activities—and her intense curiosity overrides her rational mind. She makes the first, pivotal decision of her life. One of many choices.

Adjusting the sleeping Jinrou on her back, Azami decides to follow that man.

* * *

><p>She knows how to mask chakra. It is the first thing she succeeded at doing, before tree-walking and all that fancy stuff. So she leaps after the clan head silently, travelling at a higher height because of her lighter body weight, even with Jinrou on her back.<p>

_He isn't stopping._ _We've been going at it for a while now. Almost at the heart of the forest. _

Azami senses that he is slowing down now—he's going to stop. Pre-emptively, she stills all movement behind concealing foliage, looking down at him from a higher-vantage point.

She breathes silently; afraid that he could hear the beating of her heart and skewer her with that sword he is so famous for.

He doesn't appear to notice them.

She squints, the slivers of moonlight showing the barest of his movement as he jumps to the forest floor, silently lethal. It doesn't seem explainable if he catches her spying on him so far away from the main compound.

Beads of sweat roll down her forehead. Why did she think this was a good idea?

No matter, she has to keep going. Just don't be discovered. Everything will be fine.

Tsuze takes out a scroll, unsealing whatever is inside. It appears to be heavy—maybe a stone, by the sound of it impacting the forest floor.

Azami ventures down a few branches to take a closer look.

He is staring at something—a huge box, a flat piece of…something—_it's too dark to see it clearly_. It is definitely made of a heavy material though, that is definite. She leans down further, and is just about to make out the object…

Jinrou wakes up. At the most inopportune moment.

"Mmmm…tired," he murmurs in her ear. The sound carries over the silent forest like a crack of thunder. Her heart falls like a boulder rolling off a cliff and into an abyss, forever plummeting to a grisly death.

Tsuze looks up in her direction. He _knows_ now.

Crap. He _knows_. Damn. _What do I do—what do I do—I don't know…_

"_Quiet_," she mouths at Jinrou silently. Sensing her agitation, he abides her order.

Azami tenses her legs. She observes him, reading his lips now as his form is lit up by moonlight, the clouds passing over already.

_Spies…in the tree at 8 o'clock…Kill—_

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk!

_Kill them. _

Three kunais hit the trunk of the tree she is hiding in, missing her by a hair's breadth. The tell-tale fluttering of paper pushes her into action. With a burst of chakra into her legs, she leaps away to escape.

Three explosions, and the tree is no more.

She runs for her life, flying through the trees at breakneck speed. She doesn't know if she is fast enough, she has never raced anyone.

_Not a good time to find out. _Azami grimaces when Jinrou squeezes her, his fear palpable.

She has no time to make any hand seals, no jutsu, and she is unarmed. The only thing she has is chakra. The only thing she can do is run.

Two pursuers. Neither are Tsuze. Two unknowns. So she runs.

She doesn't know what else to do. She pictures herself as the wind itself, moving at one with the air, breathing as one with the wind.

The compound comes into view.

No one is pursuing her anymore. They just…vanished.

She stops behind the bushes of the training field at the edge of the compound to gather her breath under the cover.

In. Out. In. Out.

_Breathe. _

Her arms are numb from holding Jinrou for so long. Slowly, he slides off her back.

"Azami okay?"

With wide eyes, dilated from fear and adrenaline, she collapses to her knees. "No, I'm not okay."

She then vomits into the bushes, all dignity lost. A small hand pats her back, a tiny little comfort. Wiping her mouth, she smiles at Jinrou shakily.

"I'm okay!" Jinrou says, laughing. "So fast, Azami! Like, _whoosh!_ But it was scary."

Too fatigued for proper words, she grunts a nonsensical response.

Following Uchiha Tsuze had been a bad decision. She should not have brought Jinrou along. If she had been killed, this innocent little boy would have been dragged down by her stupidity.

_I'm sorry._

She coughs into her hand, the relief at being alive still hitting her hard.

_I'm sorry_.

.

.

.

A hand reaches out from the darkness, clasping her shoulder in a tight grip.

Azami gasps.

"Now, what are you two doing this late at night?"

She relaxes. "Kozue-san."

They are safe. It's fine. They won't die tonight.

The woman frowns, evidently displeased. "I've been worried sick—and I've sent Madara running around the compound looking for you two."

Kozue sighs at their sheepish smiles. "Let's go back home. I'll tell Madara that you two rascals were out for a midnight run. It's dangerous at night, you know? Don't do it again."

"Yes, ma'am," Azami and Jinrou chorus.

She lets Kozue lead her by the hand like a small child. Nevertheless, her eyes are drawn to the sword strapped to the woman's hip.

Even in her state of fatigue, Azami notices that Kozue strangely, smells of blood.

* * *

><p>She dreams of pinwheels, of the glowing magatama beads, of whirling tomoe in red eyes and rings that spin her round and round in circles. She dreams of a masked bird that flies over the forest, the harbinger of war and bloodshed.<p>

Her birthmark burns.

* * *

><p><strong>つづく<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>End notes<strong>

_Fun Fact: Azami's personality type is the 'Independent Thinker'. _

_Well. This chapter. Where should I start?_

_This is where the plot starts to take form. Many important introductions have been made, and they are integral to the story! This will be getting a little complicated, so be attentive to the details. _

_Before people say stuff—it was never explicitly stated that Uchiha Tajima was clan head. And even if he was, a few liberties won't matter. Everything will fit in with canon. _

_Yes, Hashirama and Tobirama will be appearing in this story. They will feature heavily in the future arcs, along with Madara and Izuna. But that isn't the complete cast. There are some very interesting turns to take later on. _

_Also, canon will happen. This story won't verge off what is set in stone in canon. I might write a 'what-if' as a part-two of the epilogue if people are curious though. _

_Next chapter, everything goes to hell. More Madara and Izuna next chapter, of course!_

_Seriously, crazy stuff is going to hit the fan. _

_Phew. _

_**Tollpatsch**_


	4. Humanity

**.**

**天逆毎**

**Ama no Zako**

**.**

**Learning Phase: Realm of Hell**

**地獄道**

**Jigokudou**

* * *

><p>"What is an anarchist? One who, choosing, accepts the responsibility of choice."<p>

― Ursula K. Le Guin

* * *

><p><strong>Four: Humanity<strong>

_Die._

It's barely a whisper, but the word chases her when she sleeps. When she is finally released from the clutches of illusory dream worlds and the sensation of falling, it is an echo.

Die. Kill yourself. Die.

Lying in her futon as the rice paper screens filter in daylight, it is tranquil. Her life is stable. She has something to look forward to now.

Die.

It's an ominous cloud that looms over her, a strange, wispy sort of aura that doesn't belong with her anymore.

Breathing in the calming lavender scents of her pillow, she sighs.

_Am I finally becoming insane?_

"No more midnight escapades," she mutters into her blankets. Last night had been too much danger for her to handle in a lifetime.

_400 steps north-east. Turned fifteen degrees clockwise and continued 200 steps until the river. Crossed the river and continued for 50 steps. He unsealed the scroll. It was something heavy. Two pursuers after discovery. _

Azami sits up suddenly. What happened to the two that were chasing her? She made sure to be shrouded in darkness to keep her identity a secret—but if Uchiha Tsuze used his Sharingan, it would have been a different story. The moonlight would have been all it took for her to be unveiled.

And Jinrou. She endangered him as well with her recklessness. How could she be so stupid? Someone needs to storm in and violently stamp out her idiocy. Preferably erase the past while they're at it.

_I could never forgive myself if anything happened to Jinrou because of me…_

She continues to ponder whilst rubbing the last of sleep from her eyes. Apart from almost falling into a pit of self-hate and blame, she removes herself from the troubles of emotion and embraces the calming effect of cold rationality.

_He didn't know it was me. Most likely, he knew it was a member of the clan._

Strange. Why would the clan head opt to kill members of his clan before capturing them first for questioning?

_He would have surmised that I had followed from the compound. Enemy clans move in small teams for patrol and at least doubles in reconnaissance. He knew it wasn't an enemy ninja. _

So, why? Why are there so many questions?

And there's the matter that Kozue had a sword—a chokuto to be precise…even though one wouldn't be armed with a sword suited for battle after a bath. Uchiha Tsuze wields a katana, but he hadn't been visibly armed last night.

The one that should be armed wasn't, and one that shouldn't be armed…_was_. _How baffling._

Most confusing was how Kozue smelt like blood. There is a continuity error here—unless she bathed in blood, no human would smell like it after a bath.

_Is it even related to last night?_

More questions.

She feels an incoming headache from the gaping hole of information. Nothing can be pieced together with something so vague and solely based on her paranoia.

Azami breathes out slowly. _No use thinking so much. _

"I need to clear my mind."

.

.

.

She starts off at a slow pace, her zori crunching the dried leaves of the forest floor. It is autumn already, and the early morning carries a certain chill. Azami breathes heavily as she strains her body to keep jogging around the relative safety of the compound.

Apart from the occasional morning birdsong, it is quiet. No one else is in the vicinity. The trees look as if they have been attacked by an inspired artist's brush—rich red, orange and brown striking the foliage brilliantly.

Using a sleeve, she hastily wipes the sweat from her forehead. Sipping slowly from her water skin, she pants heavily in exhaustion.

"So...tired." She stops to regain her breath.

Doubling over lazily into a stretch, she relaxes into the dewy grass.

Something shifts the natural atmosphere of the forest, and she straightens immediately. Four shinobi pass by overhead, their dark clothes and armour a stark contrast to the brightness of the forest.

The fatigued girl bows her head in greeting, but they ignore her. Looks like the whole clan still disapproves of the product of mingling with outsiders.

_Oh well. It was worth a try though._

As if hearing her thought and in order to prove her wrong, one of the smaller figures branches away from the rest and approaches her. She recognises him.

"Izuna," she breathes out, genuinely surprised at seeing him in an environment outside of the classroom. "Rough mission?"

He stretches his arms slowly, seemingly loosening his joints. "No—three hours of patrol. Being on standby isn't easy on my arms and legs."

"First time?"

"Yeah. When are you on?"

She grins wryly. "Apparently my abilities aren't good enough. I've never been given the honour to be on patrol to protect our clan."

Izuna glances at her critically before shrugging. "That's going to change. The new schedule is out-since five minutes ago, I believe."

Azami frowns. "And this matters to me because…?"

The slight furrowing of his eyebrows is all the warning she needs to prepare for the incoming slew of words.

"There's new rules now—everyone who wears the clan emblem is supposed to report for patrol to cycle out those on missions," – he crosses his arms – "We have half an hour to memorise our times, and now the routes are changing alternately apparently. Every three days."

She whistles lowly as she processes the information. "That is some strategic innovation we have here. How long did it take again? A decade?"

Izuna sighs. "Why are you so snarky today, Azami?"

She airily dismisses him. "Maybe because I got out of the wrong side of bed today, or maybe it was the disturbing dreams I've been having…about a kunai and a hammer, you see—"

"I don't want to hear anymore!"

Laughing, she shoves his shoulder. "Just joking. Let's check out the schedule then. Thanks for telling me."

* * *

><p>The patrol system is changed. Due to increasing skirmishes with other shinobi clans whilst engaged in bloody battles with the Senju, the clan is running low on manpower.<p>

Everyone who wears the clan crest is called to duty. The more capable: to the battlefield. The younger ones are thrown into the patrol system to ready them _for _the battlefield. However, it's not the conventional system anymore.

Three members of a team. Madara is the leader, Azami is the newbie and Jinrou is the youngest. It's his training exercise, the last bout before formally introducing him to the bloody warfare of the shinobi world. Three teams of three will patrol according to their designated routes, which spans around the Uchiha territory and much farther away in terms of distance in order to cover more ground.

Patrol teams now function as scouts as well. The team in the next shift is required to be on standby for an hour before continuing the route. This is so that the whole nearby area is scoured thoroughly every day and night.

It used to be three-hour rotations, but since manpower is low, it has been increased to six hour shifts, quarterly. The morning shift is sunrise to noon. The afternoon shift is noon to sundown. And then from sunset to midnight is called the dusk shift.

These three are relatively standard. The dusk shift sees a minor amount of danger, whilst the daytime shifts saw many minor fights and the least amount of deaths statistically.

Azami stares at the large scroll, memorising the route. She isn't in luck.

They are on the night shift, from midnight to sunrise. That is the time where most patrol teams go missing, are killed, and basically encounter the most enemies.

Even worse is that her team is made up of her, an inexperienced member, and the extreme newbie, Jinrou. The only vaguely competent one is Madara.

From the get-go, it isn't looking good for them.

.

.

.

A bead of sweat rolls down her temple, adrenaline kicking in. Somehow, she quickens her pace, not unlike the quickening of her heartbeat. Madara senses her disquietude, signalling at her to slow down.

_But don't you have a bad feeling too—_she wants to ask him, but a glance at an anxious Jinrou stops her. There is no need to unnerve him further.

Still, the only one experienced here is Madara, who has to deal with the burden of two nervous newbies.

From the corner of her eye, she catches a dark blur vanishing into the shadows of the dimly lit forest and her heart skips a beat.

Leaves rustle behind them as a chilly breeze picks up force. Some dust flies into her eyes, and she stops momentarily leaping from branch to branch to soothe the irritation.

Azami only blinks for a moment. And it only takes that one moment of darkness and quiet for everything to go wrong.

A small sizzling sound, and a sudden spark of chakra fells the trees in the vicinity in a shower of splinters and dust.

She gasps at the numbing sensation in her shoulder—_lighting release oh crap—_

...And she is sent careening to the darkness of the forest floor. Alone, separated from Madara and Jinrou. The dust cloud is making it hard to breathe and see their figures.

_Are they alive?_ She pants, coughing loudly and grimacing at the small flecks of blood on her hand. The lightning release has painful side-effects. Humans in general aren't resistant to lightning, their bodies made of almost half water.

Assuming a basic stance, she lowers her centre of gravity. Her feet are shoulder-width apart and her legs tense. No use worrying about the other two.

Someone's here.

She reaches into her weapons pouch on her thigh, calming herself with the sensation of cold metal on her skin. _It's okay—not dead yet, unknown enemies who have lightning release, medical ninjutsu, and can mask chakra. This isn't looking good with this strange, wide-reaching combination. _

Breathe in, Azami. Breathe out. Focus. Focus!

_Watch out._

Just as she feels the harmonious flow of her chakra humming throughout her body, intuition kicks in. She jumps off the ground, swerving away from the tree next to her that explodes in a shower of lightning sparks and splinters.

She feels the blood running down her arms. Shallow cuts. Not too bad. Not good, either.

A boy emerges from the smoke- around her age, maybe slightly older, armoured…and baring the crest of her clan's worst nightmares.

(He checks for her corpse, but she has dodged that attack.)

There is no doubt about it: the pair of two crescents, in reverse on the ends of a flipped cross. _Her enemy_.

Senju. The clan with a thousand skills.

Azami grits her teeth to stop them chattering. She is taut with tension in order not to tremble like a leaf in the wind.

_Not good. They're unpredictable. Too much variety in jutsu._

It is one thing to be told of your enemy, and another to face them in reality. Azami notes his complicated topknot (useless in battle), the young face…a human being who probably has a family, maybe a sister, and many people who love him dearly…

Immediately, she erases his humanity from her eyes. She will not die yet. No. Not here. Not—

He disappears.

She panics.

_Where—Damn I have no idea what I'm doing. _

She pushes off the trunk in a burst of speed, heart pumping, mind reeling in the midst of battle.

The reality sinks in. If she loses here, she will die. Die like a pig in this stinking forest of darkness.

The slight spike of killing intent is what saves her from the first blow.

Turning her head whilst in mid-air, she narrowly dodges the first punch. The second uppercut is caught with her jaw. It snaps her head up to the sky, and for a split second she feels nothing but the bearable impact before she _screams_.

Searing pain. Her insides burn. It hurts. It hurts- it hurts – please- no more, no more, _no more_—_I'm on fire, help—I don't want to do this anymore please-_

Her heart pounds faster and faster- _this fucker infused his punches with lightning chakra!_

Dark spots dot her peripheral vision. She stumbles back- dizzy and panting because somehow it's so hard to breathe—

Everything fades to black, and it is silent and peaceful. It is a moment of unconsciousness, a temporary escape from the world. Azami wakes up, finding herself in the midst of falling, the enemy getting closer and _no way in hell she's going to let him shock her again. _

She springs from her feet into a series of rapid backflips to _get the fuck away from that crazy lightning kid. _

Azami isn't fast enough. A flat palm strikes her right arm, but she jerks away quicker this time, getting away with a sharp, painful sting…then numbness where her arm hangs uselessly from its socket, occasionally twitching.

It's a one-sided beat down, and she is losing. Her face aches; there are cuts all over her arms from the previous explosions, flying debris and she has had _enough_.

Totally rage-inducing.

She bombards him with kunai to make him jump to the left. Suddenly veering to the side, she sends a fireball to him whilst he is in mid-air. It catches him by surprise, and he evades one moment too slow.

The smell of burning flesh fills the air. The enemy is groaning, his face contorted in agony as he cradles his right arm.

_An arm for an arm. _Azami grimaces as shuriken fly at her.

She responds faster this time, slowly acclimatising to his movements. Pushing chakra into her legs, she leaps away from the incoming shuriken. Some are embedded into the ground. Others follow her—probably infused with lightning chakra, and somehow able to vaguely track the tiny electric surges of her nerves.

The Senju are terrifying.

_It's not the end yet. Never challenge an Uchiha in shurikenjutsu. _

She retaliates with her own fire-chakra infused shuriken barrage, shuriken for shuriken. It doesn't cancel out the lightning chakra, because of her fire nature, but it stops them from following her.

It looks like he isn't ambidextrous, and she has taken out the use of his dominant hand.

(Back in the early days of target practice, holding her own against the rest with her skill in her aim remains her pride. Hours upon hours of extra practice, sore fingers and cuts on her hands were the price.)

The strength of her fireball release seems to be just that little bit stronger than his mastery of the lightning release, which she must exploit. It's her only advantage.

However, the Senju boy is still faster than her. More kunai are targeting her this time, with the dreaded exploding tags. Her hands automatically go into the tiger seal. The kunais hit the target.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk—_

They hit a block of wood instead, the speed of the execution of the body replacement jutsu just a hare's breadth faster than the kunai.

_Ram. Snake. Tiger. _(Her right hand is shaky, and she needs to hurry before the pain comes back again.)

Azami peers out at the enemy ninja, who has his eyes closed in a bid to sense her. Fat chance, this guy isn't the experienced chakra sensor of his team. And even if he is, it looks like the pain of the burns to his arm is affecting him.

She calms herself, ignoring the spasms in her own arm. Her dominant hand is her left, after all. It's going fine. _Calm yourself. Think. Think. Think of a way to get out of this alive, and then check on Jinrou. Check on Madara. Everyone's going to be fine. _

The moment she waits for…is that moment of clarity, that sudden epiphany combined with clever tactics- _aha! _

A plan forms. She checks for the ninja wire. It's there. It's fireproof.

_Shadow yourself. Make use of the darkness. Trick him. _

She's ready.

The whizzing the shurikens alerts him, and he dodges them easily. She keeps throwing them from different, erratic angles, not letting him rest. She lets him see glimpses of her as she darts between the trees.

(Her arm aches. She ignores the painful tingling, jabbing a pressure point to force her hands to move)

He keeps dodging, still agile despite his injury.

_It's time. Everything rests on this. He can't notice. Not yet._

The image of her charges towards the Senju ninja—no, the boy, for he is just a boy caught up in a war not of his own making. He shakily punches with his left hand, denting the ground when she evades it cleanly.

_(There is no shadow, no sign of real presence. But it is dark, and in the heat of pain and adrenaline he doesn't notice.)_

He is still faster than her. He jumps, bringing his leg up in a powerful swing to kick her into the ground, lightning sparks foretelling the unimaginable pain when it connects with her abdomen, and it goes through her…driving through the mirage to make contact with the earth.

_(She twitches her fingers, pulling and pulling, setting the trap…)_

The Azami in front of him vanishes in a burst of smoke. He frees his leg from the earth, and he lifts his head up towards the moon shining overhead, the clouds finally breaking.

"A clone, huh?" – he mumbles, realization dawning.

_I'm so sorry. _

It's the end. It's his loss, he realises when he sees the moonlight illuminating pieces of chakra wire pulled taut around the whole area. He can't move without it cutting into his skin.

"Sorry, Touka. Looks like onii-chan can't come back. Don't give Hashirama too much trouble, okay?" He glimpses the Uchiha girl in the shadows, just a little girl. A little older than his sister, maybe. Just a girl.

He couldn't bring himself to kill her. And that gap between his will and hers, the desire to survive is what she took advantage of. She sees through him, and he sees through her.

The sorrowful look on her face is what makes him smile in the face of death.

"_Katon: Ryuuka no Jutsu," _Azami mutters as she steps out from hiding behind a tree trunk. The fire is fast, flying across the wires.

Flames engulf him. It's strange that he is smiling.

Once again, she is watching someone burn.

(He has a sister, friends, people who love him. And she is the one who stole his life.)

_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry—I'm sorry._

In her moment of regret, she aims at where his heart and neck are—launching the kunai with solemnity. A quick end is better than slowly burning to death.

The smoke must have gotten in her eyes. They are watering from the smoke. These are not tears. Not for the enemy, not for someone who ambushed her with the intent of killing her. Even though the intent was half-baked. Definitely not.

Yet, she is crying again. What is she crying for?

Once again, she is watching someone burn. To death.

_Ah, yes._

These are tears shed for the victims. She is a victim. So was the boy. Everyone is a victim of a useless battle of pride between generations.

He dies for that pride. He dies because she wants to live. That is why Azami cries.

They all die for nothing. And wipes her despair away, as she steels herself. She has to find Madara and Jinrou.

_I don't want people to die for nothing anymore. _

* * *

><p>The exploding trees take Madara by surprise. He reacts immediately, pulling Jinrou into his side to shield him from the debris as he springs to relative safety.<p>

"Azami's not here," Jinrou whispers.

"She'll be fine on her own," he answers. "She has to be."

It's like he is trying to convince himself, rather than ease Jinrou's worries. He stands in front of his brother, half of his body naturally shielding him.

He can't worry for her. Not now, when there's two enemies charging for them. The spike in chakra gives them away, and a wave of killing intent strikes them. Madara shrugs it off like dust off his shoulder.

Jinrou doesn't fare so well. He is frozen in place with fear. His first patrol shouldn't be wrought with enemies in sudden ambushes.

Madara lays a reassuring hand on the boy's tiny shoulders. "Stay calm, Jinrou. And stand back," – he looks deep into his brother's eyes, trying to convey the fact that he will protect him, no matter what – "I'll keep you safe."

He can't check for his reaction, but he hears Jinrou draw his short sword.

_Let's go, then. _

He engages both of them at the same time, mind going into overdrive. Analysing, reacting, predicting, evading. All the while trying not to let them through. Jinrou wouldn't be able to win against them. Not against these Senju ninja.

One has precise attacks. He aims for the vitals all the time. Using scalpels—probably the medic. His strength obviously isn't his forte. The other seems to dabble in taijutsu mostly, but weapons could be concealed. He is agile and speedy.

Both seem to be older than him. Maybe just standing on the cusp of manhood.

But Madara is faster. He is dodging strikes, jabs and their teamwork taijutsu expertly. Though they move in sync, each complementing the other, he is holding his own against being double-teamed.

He has to overpower them. The constant attacking is putting him on the defensive. There is no time to make hand seals.

A scalpel nicks the tendon between his shoulder and neck where the armour doesn't protect him. Madara quickly sweeps his foot under the Senju's to divert his attention before delivering a high kick, right in the jaw.

Intuition kicking in, he springs backwards as his hands move automatically at the sight of an earth dragon barrelling towards him.

_So the taijutsu guy had earth jutsu. They tried to distract me. Hmph. _

He directs more chakra into the jutsu, breathing out a fireball twice its normal size. Fire is stronger than earth. That is an elemental fact.

Narrowly dodging another scalpel, he readies his chakra for another jutsu. Both enemies are in range. The earth-user is heading towards him, and the other isn't that much of a challenge alone.

It's checkmate. Everything will end with this—

"_I have to go on! I have to!" _ Jinrou screams as he rushes past a motionless Madara, blindly charging head on into the fight.

No—_a genjutsu? _

"Kai! Kai! Jinrou, snap out of the genjutsu!" he yells, desperately trying to break the illusion. This distraction earns him a scalpel slashing at the sides of his abdomen, the flesh not covered by armor very vulnerable.

He ignores the sting of pain. "I told you to stand back, idiot!"

In a frenzy, he somehow manages to shake off the slashing scalpels and run towards Jinrou. He has to make it before the enemy. He has to.

Madara reaches for Jinrou's collar, the new Uchiha crest on his back giving him encouragement to _reach him_.

The sword drops from his grip as he falls back into Madara's arms, still.

Breathing out at Jinrou's falter, he feels his heart drop when he sees the blood. Slowly, he raises a hand towards the boy's neck. There is no pulse.

A kunai is sticking out from the place where his heart should be. He died instantly.

_No. _

The enemy is relentless, continuing to attack as he holds Jinrou's body in his arms. Jinrou, who will never laugh again. Who will never see again. The light of life has left his eyes, never to return again.

Madara lays him down gently.

_Dead. Dead-dead-dead—_

He sees red. He roars in anguish, just screaming as everything fades into a blur as he pummels the murderer into the earth, where he should be buried for eternity.

He takes them both on, the medic ninja is once-again pushed to the side because he will _break _that man for what he has done, and he will not rest until he avenges his brother. His younger brother, who he could not protect.

He stumbles when the man finally falls into the pool of is own blood, broken and dead, dead,_ dead._ Somehow, it is hard to keep standing.

_It's hard to breathe. _

And Madara falls, gasping for air. The blurry figure of the medic walks closer, closer, closer.

"P-poi…son," he rasps at the man, who does not answer. A hand grips at his collar, dragging his limp body that _refused to move, move- damn it_—to eye level with a scalpel.

He watches a bead of liquid roll off the sharp metal. Lacing the scalpels with poison—he should have discovered that sooner, with all the small nicks and cuts. Especially the slash near his stomach. The cut is deep, and the poison would have been directly introduced to his bloodstream.

_Not…good. _

Silence.

"…Strong paralyser," a deep voice says finally in a sort of grim goodbye. With his other hand, he readies the scalpel to slit Madara's throat.

He wills his hand to move, only managing a shuddering movement. _Move. Move-move-move!_

Gritting his teeth, he weakly kicks out at the ninja, thrashing about.

"Impressive. But you will die here."

He has to buy time to move more. He has to move. He has to live.

"Why?" Madara wheezes out.

"For my fallen comrades and the Senju clan." The taciturn reply is ironic.

"_He_…killed my-my…brother."

"And you killed _him_."

Here, something welled up within in—something that rebels against this senseless slaughter between Uchiha and Senju. Between all the shinobi clans. _Why _is it like this?

Why did Jinrou have to die for something this pointless?

Madara locked gazes with the Senju, a fire in his eyes. "But…_why?" _

He starts to swing the scalpel, aiming at his throat. "Because you are an Uchiha. And I am a Senju."

_That reason isn't good enough. _

Madara shuts his eyes for the impact.

_Why do I have to die for nothing? This world is unfair! I hate this world!_

He breathes in sharply when he senses the incoming scalpel. This is it. His end.

The memory of that stupid girl crying in the training ground weeks ago emerges, and he remembers the way her hair fluttered in the breeze, the irritating way she smiled, that playful glint in her green eyes.

He likes the colour green. It's calming. He never told her that, did he…and she might, like Jinrou, be already—

_Thump._

The sound of panting, and the man that holds him captive drops him, groaning.

Madara forces his eyes open, only to see a hand holding something metallic on the ground next to him.

Just a hand. Severed cleanly.

Slowly, every so slowly, he raises his gaze to see the man on his knees in front of him, and a sword at his throat.

The sight of the person holding the short sword—_Jinrou's sword_, brings a surge of relief.

She's alive. She won.

"Now, let's make this quick. Answer me, or I slit your throat," – Azami's soft voice has an edge to it like the blade she holds – "Who told you that we would be here?"

The man groans in pain. "I will not betray my clan."

Azami presses the blade further into the tender skin of his neck. "Not a Senju then. Probably one of your allies. Easy targets? You tried to capture us first. Then you deemed Jinrou useless. So, what information were you hoping to get from us?"

He remains silent.

She sighs. "So I _am _close to the truth. Well. I've never interrogated ninja before, so I guess I'll let the more experienced Uchiha pry those secrets out," – she glances at Madara – "Can you move now?"

He nods, struggling to get to his feet. Reaching in his pouch for a kunai, he shakily points it at the man's heart.

"Speak now, and we'll spare you the torture," he says hoarsely.

The man narrows his eyes resolutely, before his body tenses.

"Madara, stop him—"

He can't move his arms up. He has no more strength.

Blood spurts from the man's mouth. He convulses, eyes bulging and body shuddering for many long moments as Azami lets him fall on his side, unmoving.

Madara gapes at the scene. "What?"

She sighs again. "He bit his tongue off, and choked himself. Well, he saw through me."

"…What?"

Azami lets her left arm fall back towards her side, as her right seems to hang uselessly.

"Dead men tell no tales. His blind trust in his clan is admirable. So he fights, and kills in the name of the clan. And he died a pointless death, a victim of this cycle of hatred."

She casts her eyes towards where Jinrou lies, seemingly sleeping. "Him too. A victim."

"…A cycle of hatred," Madara murmurs, staring at the body of his brother. Trembling from the effects of the paralysis, he crawls towards Jinrou. The progress is slow, and he ends up dragging himself across the forest floor. His body shudders from the paralyzer, tingling uncomfortably.

_Jinrou, Jinrou, Jinrou_.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, cradling Jinrou in his arms.

She watches him sadly, averting her eyes upward to give him that moment of privacy to mourn.

The sky is a brilliant red. Dawn is breaking. It's just another day.

But it's the first day without Jinrou.

.

.

.

The sun has risen. The forest should be filled with signs of life, of morning birdsong to welcome the incoming day, but it is deathly silent.

Azami stands there, just breathing. Her grip loosens on the short sword she is holding, and it drops into one of many pools of blood—already drying onto the tips of the once green grass.

Raising her hands to her face, she stares at the scarlet stains blankly. The adrenaline is fading fast, and she feels the heaviness of her limbs. It requires so much effort to keep standing there, in this gory aftermath—to keep living, and breathing with the burden of the loss of lives.

Enemy lives, but they were once living humans as well. Her hands are finally covered in blood.

A strangled cry fills the forest.

"…Madara?" she whispers, walking forward a few steps towards him. He is kneeling in blood—_not his_, but could have been.

A question—_are you okay_, lingers on her lips, but she can clearly see that he isn't. He's not okay, not fine, definitely not. He is emotionally broken, a small crack forming on an unmarred heart that could never be filled again.

He doesn't reply when he looks over his shoulder at her, tears streaming down his face. He just contorts his face painfully, roughly wiping at his eyes and instead smearing blood all over his skin.

"Let's go back, Madara. I've sent out a flare," – her voice is hoarse – "Help is coming. Home. Let's go home. Everyone's waiting."

"…Not everyone," he murmurs. "Jinrou's dead, too."

A sense of déjà vu washes over her, and her mind wanders back to a time long gone, an endearing and childishly fun time where their worries about war and politics were distant. Where all that mattered was who got the last snack, who could run the fastest, and who had the nicest handwriting.

"The Senju got him," she finally says after a long period of silence, her eyes watery and warm. Emotions catch up to her logical mind, and the tears fall. She once thought she had no more tears left after her family turned into ash.

But she cannot stop crying. Not when life is like this. Not when death looms over them like this.

Madara's low mutters fall silent, and he punches the ground. Over and over again.

"I couldn't protect him. Again. _Again_. _Again!" _He yells, his voice raspy and his knuckles raw. His hands are shaking—the side effects from the paralysis still affecting him.

As inexperienced as she is, she could still sense the storm of angry chakra. Strangely, his tempestuous chakra feels magnetic.

_(Since when could she feel chakra like that? Wasn't this her sister's ability…?)_

She cannot look away from that eerie chakra, its humanity beautiful in its fury and its anguish.

* * *

><p><strong>つづく<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>End notes<strong>

_Poor Madara. He goes through so much. Anyway, the chapters before were all building up to this one. That is what I do, build up things until they EXPLODE! _

_(Sobs) JINROU! WHY!_

…_And another Hashirama reference. He doesn't appear for some time though. _

_Anyway, I hope people noticed Azami's development. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Also, I try not to paint people in a totally negative light. Not everything is black and white. _

_Azami is not strong- not overall and not physically either. Her current skillset is pretty meagre compared to the calibre of all her enemies: some kind of battle sense, a bit of stamina, agility, basic Uchiha techniques and a newfound sensitivity for vague emotions in chakra. Not even a sensor-type, which would actually be useful, haha. _

_So of course she needs to get beaten into the ground. It's not fun when they're too strong. But she will have time to shine, and moments of awesomeness. _

_On another note…what are your thoughts so far? I think this is nearing the end of the introductory arc of the plot. _

_Much love,_

_**Tollpatsch. **_


End file.
